But he didn't want to talk to her about Claire. His rationale for the marriage, his feelings for Claire and hers for him were private and had nothing to do with the Felicia Bettises of the world. Claire wasn't a topic for conjecture or discussion, and he revealed as little to Lady Bettis as possible.

Yes, he was marrying Lady Claire.

No, they hadn't set a wedding date.

No, he didn't find her too much of a child anymore. In fact, she'd turned into a lovely, charming young woman whom any man would be pleased to wed.

Felicia didn't like that last at all, her mouth screwing tight with obvious displeasure. But then her expression suddenly cleared like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds. That was when she began to flirt, trying to put him in a better mood. Unfortunately for her, all she succeeded in doing was boring him to death.

While she was chattering away, he scanned the room for Claire, wondering if she might like to join him for supper. He'd caught a glimpse of her dancing with Adam Gresham, but when he'd looked again, she was gone, lost somewhere in the milling crowd.

Having had more than enough, he finally decided to extricate himself from Lady Bettis's attentions.

"Yes, how amusing," he said in response to her latest remark. "But now, if you will excuse me, I must be going."

"Must you?" she replied with a pout that was undoubtedly meant to be alluring. "I was rather hoping you might ask me to dance."

"My apologies, but I cannot." He refused to say more, or to make further excuses that both of them would know for lies.

"Until later then," she said on an audible sigh, her shoulders slumping in resignation and defeat.

With a practiced bow, he departed, threading his way through the squeeze of guests in hopes of locating Claire. He hadn't gone twenty feet, however, before another woman he could have done without seeing this evening stepped into his path.

"Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise running into you tonight," said Philipa, Lady Stockton, her blue eyes shrewd in her winsome face, her lips rouged as red and ripe as cherries.

He inclined his head. "My lady."

"I must say, it's been ages since we last met," she continued with a faint toss of her brunette head. "How is dear Jack these days?"

At one time, she had been his brother Jack's mistress, although Edward had never fully understood the attraction, in spite of her outward beauty.

"Still married," he said.

A laugh rippled from her throat. "Yes, so I hear. And a father now too."

"Yes. A daughter, on whom he dotes already. The baby and Lady John are doing exceptionally well and the three of them remain very happy together in the country."

Her smile faded ever so slightly. "Well, I am glad to hear it. I would ask you to send my best regards to dear Jack in your next letter, but I suppose you would find it frightfully inappropriate."

Silence supplied his answer.

"Speaking of things one hears, I understand congratulations are in order, Your Grace. Allow me to wish you happiness on your coming nuptials."

He paused. "Thank you."

How civil of her, he thought. Surprisingly so. In his experience, however, Lady Stockton wasn't the sort who did things out of mere politeness. Generally there was some underlying motivation behind her actions. Did she want something? Or was he misjudging her and she really was simply extending her well-wishes?

"Oh, you're quite welcome," she continued in a friendly tone. "Your fiancee is lovely, I must say, with that beautiful blond hair and rosy complexion. The two of you make quite a striking couple. Light and dark are always complementary."

He said nothing, silently twisting his signet ring on his little finger as he waited for her to continue.

"She is certain to do you credit as your duchess."

"Yes, I am sure she shall," he stated, wondering how soon he might be able to slip away without appearing impolite.

"Although I cannot help but note that she is young and obviously new to Town. There may be a few small pointers you wish to share with her about how to go on in Society. Clearly, she doesn't realize her misstep, but I suppose all of us are entitled to one or two at first."

His brows lowered. "What do you mean? What misstep?"

An expression of surprise rounded her features. "I assumed you knew."

"Knew what?"

"Why, that she's dancing with Lord Islington. They just started a second set together moments ago and I must say, they are drawing comment. Good girls, even engaged ones, don't generally dance with such a roue."

Islington!

Edward's hands turned to fists at his side, the emerald in his ring cutting tightly against the inside of his palm. Why, that bounder. How dare Islington ask Claire to dance when he knew exactly what sort of attention it would draw.

Flipping his ring around to its correct position, he executed a clipped bow. "If you will excuse me, Lady Stockton, I find I am needed elsewhere."

She managed not to smirk, but couldn't quite conceal the delight glittering in her eyes. "Of course, Your Grace. So good chatting with you."

Suppressing the growl that rose in his chest, he turned away and strode through the crowd. People parted for him as he passed, stepping aside like wheat sheaves laid flat by a scythe.

Soon he found himself on the perimeter of the dance floor, couples moving to and fro with practiced movements. And there in the center of the action was Claire, her steps lively as she glided in time to the music with her partner, Gregory, Lord Islington, exactly as Philipa Stockton had claimed.

Edward forced himself not to stalk forward and wrest Claire out of Islington's arms. The pair of them were causing enough comment without him creating a scene that would be the talk of every drawing room and dining table in London come tomorrow morning. Instead, he decided he would wait, calmly and with an apparent lack of concern. Once the set concluded, he would arrive at Claire's side and lead her safely away.

No harm. No fuss.

Well, maybe a small amount of fuss, but once he had Claire back where she belonged, the situation would seem altogether ordinary, a raindrop in an ocean that was quickly absorbed and forgotten.

What he wanted to know, however, was how she had come to be acquainted with Islington in the first place. Who had introduced them? Clearly not Cousin Wilhelmina, who might be a bit silly at times, but who knew enough to keep her young charges well away from scoundrels like Islington. He remembered seeing Claire in Gresham's company, but despite Adam's own wild reputation, Edward knew Gresham wouldn't put an innocent like Claire in Islington's path.

So how had they met? he wondered again, struggling not to glower and glare like an enraged bull as he watched the two of them dance.

Generally, Islington confined himself to experienced widows and bored wives, who didn't mind kicking up a cloud of scandal and gossip while they conducted an illicit liaison with him. Debutantes and unmarried young women were on his do-not-touch list, though, and after "the incident" three years ago, everyone knew why and were careful to keep their marriageable daughters away.

Although to be fair, Edward was certain Claire didn't realize what Islington was or that she ought to have steered well clear of him and refused his offer to take a turn on the floor. But the dance would conclude shortly, and once he had Claire by his side, all would be well.

While he stood waiting, a few people were brave enough to make whispered asides. But for the most part no one in his vicinity said a word, nor was anyone daring enough to meet his gaze. Not that he was looking, his eyes directed toward the line of dancers, and two individuals in particular.

Finally, the music ceased, the set done.

Gentlemen and ladies broke into pairs, including Gresham and Mallory, who had been dancing as well and now glanced his way. They started toward him, but he gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head that stopped them both. Apparently understanding his wish to handle the situation on his own, Adam nodded and took Mallory's arm to lead her away, which she agreed to with a little frown of worry on her forehead.

Meanwhile, Islington offered his arm to Claire. As he did, Edward strode forward, his patience officially at an end. He met Claire and Islington at the halfway point, forcing them to halt as he stopped directly in their path. He didn't spare Islington so much as a glance.

"I have come to see you into supper," he said, giving Claire a deliberate smile. "Let us go and procure a comfortable seat." He extended his arm for her to take.

Claire, however, made no effort to accept. "I'm sorry, but I am afraid I must decline."

For a moment, he thought he hadn't heard her correctly. "What?"

"I didn't realize you planned to take me into supper tonight, so I accepted Lord Islington's invitation. The dance that just concluded was the supper dance, in case you were unaware."

Actually, he hadn't been aware, but it hardly mattered what dance it was. She wasn't eating supper with Islington!

He ground his teeth together. "Yes, well, there's obviously been a misunderstanding. I'm sure Islington here won't mind if you have supper with me, seeing that I am your fiance."

And that, he thought, was that.

Before Islington could comment, Claire stepped in again. "That may be true, Edward, but I did give my promise and I don't feel right breaking it. I'm sure you'll find another very pleasant lady who will be only too happy to join you for the midnight buffet. As for me, I am promised to Lord Islington tonight."

Edward felt his eyes strain inside their sockets, ire pumping through his bloodstream. The sensation only increased when he caught sight of the smirk on Islington's face. His hands clenched at his sides, muscle and bone aching for the chance to land a punch that would wipe the smug look off the other man's face.

"Claire," he said on a low rumble, "I don't think you fully understand what is involved here-"

"And I don't think you are aware, Your Grace, that we are starting to attract attention with our tete-a-tete. Now, I am dining with his lordship and that is the end of the discussion. I shall see you later on this evening."

"Claire-" he warned.

"Oh, Edward, don't be such a grouchy Gus."

Grouchy Gus!

"Come, your lordship," she said, tightening her grip on Islington's arm. "If we do not move along, all the good seats will be taken."

"Far be it from me to deny pleasure to a lady," Islington said.

Edward stood as though riveted in place, astonished all the way to his depths. He couldn't believe she had outmaneuvered him, and so adroitly too. But she was right that everyone was watching, ears strained to catch each possible word. She'd truly backed him into a corner, since short of physically separating her from Islington, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

For a second, he actually considered yanking her away from the other man-scandal be damned. But he stopped himself. Claire and Islington were going into the supper room where they would be surrounded by dozens of other guests. Edward would be there as well, and he would make certain he found a seat with an excellent and unobstructed view. Nothing would happen that he didn't know about, and once supper concluded, so would Claire's association with Islington.

Chapter 13.

"Good heavens, what do you think you're doing?" Mallory whispered as she perched on a dining room chair next to Claire. "I thought I told you to stay away from Lord Islington."

As for Islington, once he'd located a table for himself and Claire, he'd made his excuses and left to procure selections from the buffet spread out in glorious excess across the room. The moment he'd departed, Mallory had hurried over and dropped down into his empty seat.

Claire sent her friend a look of deliberate unconcern. "I know you did, but then I met him and he asked me to dance. I couldn't very well refuse."

"Of course you could. You ought to have given him the cut direct and refused to speak with him at all."

"Why? Despite your admonitions, he seems an amiable sort of person, quite intelligent and interesting. I can't understand what's so very dreadful about him. You said yourself you don't even know what it is he is supposed to have done wrong."

"No," Mallory agreed, her expression troubled. "But Edward wouldn't have warned me off without good cause." Pausing, she cast a glance toward her brother where he sat at a table a few yards distant. "By the way, Ned looks positively glacial. I really don't think it was wise to have insisted on supper with Islington."

Claire gave a derisive sniff. "Then he ought to have thought to ask me to share supper with him before the supper dance was concluded."

Mallory gave her a thoughtful look. "Is that what this is about? Teaching Ned a lesson?"

"In a manner of speaking. Look now, Lord Islington appears to be returning, so if you don't want to make conversation with him, you'd best run along. I'm sure Lord Gresham is wondering where you are anyway."

"Oh, he knows." Mallory shot her a smile. "Just be careful, all right?"

"It's not as if Islington's going to murder me here in front of everyone."

"No, but from the expression on Ned's face, my brother might do the job for him."

"Very funny," Claire replied with a sarcastic smile. Mallory grinned, then hurried away.

Lord Islington arrived a few moments later, two laden plates in hand. He set one in front of her before doing so for himself, then taking a seat. "Still here, then? I couldn't help but notice Lady Malloy talking with you and figured she would have led you away by now."

"Of course I am still here. I have agreed to share supper with you, and share supper I shall."

"Even if it lands you in a tub of very hot water?"

She paused, trying her best to ignore Edward where he sat gazing-or should she say glaring-at her from across the room, the lady he had ended up escorting in to supper chatting aimlessly at his side.

"Yes, even then," she told him in a low voice. "I may be small, blond and female, but you will find I have a will of iron when my mind is set upon a particular path."

He arched a tawny brow. "That I can well believe. I must warn you, however, that this path of yours may have unintended consequences. Clybourne isn't the sort to be trifled with."

She sent him a haughty look. "Neither, my lord, am I."

Surprise lit his face, then he laughed, a hearty outburst that drew an even greater number of gazes. "You're going to make a fine duchess, Lady Claire."

I certainly hope not, she thought, wondering just how far she was going to have to take this battle of wills between her and Edward. But he'd brought this on himself by insisting on their engagement when she had asked to be released from it from the very start. Regardless of the repercussions, she wasn't backing down, even if it meant dancing, flirting and sharing a meal with a man of questionable character.

"Well then, my lord," she said in a carefree tone as she regarded her plate. "What delicacies have you brought me? Lobster patties, I hope, since they are my favorite."

"I believe there are one or two hidden among the rest," he said with an indulgent chuckle. "And I understand ices are to be served later."

"Ices! Then I'm in heaven already."

Hell and damnation! Edward thought over an hour later as he strode into the ballroom in search of Claire.

He'd assumed it would be a simple matter to retrieve Claire once supper was concluded. But somehow, without quite knowing how she managed, he'd ended up watching her sail out of the dining room on Islington's arm before he had a chance to reach them. And with his own dinner partner to be seen to, far more time had passed than he liked before he was free to resume the pursuit.

A new set was already forming inside the ballroom when he entered, people arranging themselves in couples on the dance floor, while the quartet of musicians played a few rounds of practice notes.